


There's No Rest

by prompt_fills



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Sequence, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: Neither Tony nor Bucky would make a move and their friends are getting fed up with them.10×100 words drabble with mistletoe and first kisses.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dorian_The_Grey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorian_The_Grey/gifts).



> Many thanks to [Rahndom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom) for the spellcheck.

The glasses are clinking together, the music is softly playing cheery Christmas tunes and the snow is turning into a muddy mush on the sidewalks outside.

Tony hates snow in the city.

“Try to at least look like you’re having fun.”

Tony mechanically lifts the corners of his lips. Sighing, Rhodey throws his arm around his shoulders when he sees the fake smile.

“Tony, there are people eager to meet you,” Rhodey tries to reason. “You can’t keep hiding from them all evening.”

“Watch me,” Tony grumbles, downing his drink.

Rhodey frowns. “But Tones, the foundation–”

“Capsicle is handling it.”

* * *

Bucky takes a cautious sip of the drink Natalia handed him with a glint of something defiant in her eyes. It tastes a bit like eggnog with Tia Maria, and a whole lot like vodka, and – after the third glass – it’s not even that horrible.

It’s something Stark would enjoy.

If he were to show his face here.

Colonel Rhodes is nowhere to be seen either, which should be neither surprising nor aggravating.

He grabs another glass and circles the room, wishing he could still get drunk.

Seven doors, eleven exits, .264 caliber rifle hidden in the Christmas tree stand.

* * *

“He knows something’s up,” Clint hisses into Natasha’s ear as he twirls her around.

“Of course he knows something’s up. And would you stop humming that?”

Clint continues with the Mission Impossible tune.

“I’ll step on your toes.”

“In those stilettos? You wouldn’t, Nat. I know you w– _ouch_!”

“I suggest we proceed now as planned,” Natasha says, leaning back in a swoop, her hair brushing against the floor.

“We definitely should do that before Bucky decides to bail out. There is just tiny little problem, Nat. I haven’t seen Tony all afternoon.”

“Rhodey is already on it,” Natasha dismisses.

* * *

Bucky manages seven minutes of making small talk with random strangers – who are undoubtedly very important people – before he deems his quota filled.

He’s been on edge all evening.

He knows there are eyes watching him because there are _always_ eyes watching him. (No one trust him to remain stable.)

This prickling sense of awareness, it’s something else. The feeling is not unlike the one he gets in his gut before missions go horribly wrong.

He assets the ballroom again. Three stationary windows. Thirty eight people dancing, Barton and Natalia among them.

Something’s wrong but he can’t figure out what.

* * *

Out of nowhere, Barton draws a bow, aiming for Stark the moment the man walks in.

The arrow is released but Bucky is already moving Stark, bracketing his slender frame with his body, trying to shield them from the impact with his left arm.

He doesn’t have to deflect the flying arrow, it harmlessly embeds itself into a latch of the vent above their heads.

“He missed?” Stark gapes. “He must be brainwashed. Quick acting, Terminator.”

“He _never_ misses,” Bucky hisses, expecting the arrow to explode.

Instead, the gate of the vent falls open, releasing a dangling sprig of mistletoe.

* * *

“I’m going to fucking kill them,” Stark says, affection colouring his tone.

Stark leans up, grinning, and then Bucky can feel the scrape of his beard, followed by the soft press of his warm lips against Bucky’s cheek. Stark is close but not close _enough_. 

Bucky is all too aware of the way he’s pressing Stark against the wall. He drops the hand from above Stark’s shoulder but Stark doesn’t hurry to move away. He isn’t acting like he’s worried the Winter Soldier is going to skin him alive.

Bucky’s cheek is still tingling.

Heart pounding, he turns and runs.

* * *

“Clinton,” Natasha drawls dangerously.

Clint winces. “He’s fucking fast, it’s not my fault.”

Natasha gives him a look promising bodily harm.

Clint throws his hands up. “No, Nat, c’mon. I hit the target dead on. Don’t look at me like that, cupcake.”

“You were too slow, he saw it coming.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you.”

“It could all work in our favour,” Rhodey says, joining the quarrelling duo, a new glass of champagne in his hand.

“I don’t see how. Barnes is gone.”

“Knowing Tony, he’s going to follow after him,” Rhodey shrugs. “Friendship gives better intel than espionage.”

* * *

Light steps approach the roof. He’s got a throwing knife ready that instant.

Bucky reminds himself he’s safe and rolls his shoulders to relax them. He slouches back against the side of the tower, pocketing the knife. He raises his cigarette to his lips and takes a drag.

Stark appears a few moments later. “A little cold out here to be admiring the view, isn’t it?”

“Last time I smoked inside, Stark, one of your bots brought the fire extinguisher.”

“That’s Dum-E.” Starks scratches his chin. “He means well.”

“So does Barton.”

“Don’t mind him either. And call me Tony.”

* * *

The falling snow keeps catching in Tony’s hair. “Thanks for that save earlier,” Tony says.

“Something’s been off all evening,” Bucky shrugs. “I could tell.”

“Still, sweet reflexes.”

“You think?” He grabs Tony, throwing his left arm around his waist from behind. Instead of freezing, Tony relaxes into the touch, tilting his head, eyes boring into Bucky’s, sharp and bright. “You aren’t afraid.”

“I never am.”

“Maybe you should be.”

He can see the exact moment Tony’s pupils are blown wide, a perfect circle leaving only a slim ring of surrounding colour.

“Ah.” Tony clears his throat. “But I’m not.”

* * *

Tony would swear it’s Bucky who moves first. Their lips meet to kiss hungrily, Bucky nibbling and tugging at his lower lip, then licking insistently into his mouth. Tony moans.

Time turns fluid.

They part, panting. Tony keeps his eyes closed. “I wanted–”

Bellow them, one of the _unbreakable_ windows shatters. The doombots start pouring in.

“Ha. Looks like you’ve been right to be worried,” Tony says, the armour’s glove fitting itself to his palm. “So, about that movie and dinner…”

“Rain check,” Bucky promises, dodging a blast from the repulsor so that it hits a doombot to his right.


End file.
